


Know Before Whom You Labor

by CaptainLordAuditor



Series: New Americana [8]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Jewish Character, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Missing Scene, Trans Male Character, Underage Smoking, elements of both canons, it's only mentioned briefly but he is, jack is a socialist, jewish newsies, jewsies, mentions of underage sex but like only if you know 1890s slang, period accurate slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 20:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17856527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLordAuditor/pseuds/CaptainLordAuditor
Summary: There's a reason Race took Midtown.





	Know Before Whom You Labor

Cowboy Jack pulls him aside on the way into the deli. Davey’s gone ahead and is trying to keep Niney and Snipeshooter from teaching Les how to steal from the soda bar, and won’t notice Race’s or Cowboy’s absence until someone points it out.

Cowboy stands behind Jacobi’s and leans against the wall, clearly trying to be casual. “You knows what’s next, right?”

Race nods. “Gotta send out runners.” If they don’t tell the others, they won’t be going on strike; they’ll be starting a war. Strike only works if there’s no scabs, and if they soak the kids that come in from the neighboring gangs to take their empty places with no warning and no intention of using the spots, ain’t no force on earth could hold Cowboy Kelly’s union together.

Cowboy nods and leans closer to him. “Now you listen to me, Racetrack. I don’t want you going to Brooklyn. Hey,” he adds when Race opens his mouth to argue. “Listen to me, alright? I ain’t sending you to Brooklyn, you ain’t volunteering.  You’s gonna have some other job, I ain’t sending you to talk to Spot Conlon.”

“I can talk him into anything,” Race protests. “You can’t afford for me _not_ to go. He don’t listen to no one else here, not since those troubles last fall.”

Cowboy’s hand tightens around the edge of his pocket and he adjusts his hat. “I knows he don’t listen to no one else like he listens to you,” he says. “That’s why I ain’t sending you, see? Look - does you wanna go on strike? Real honest?”

Race hesitates, then hates himself for it.

Jack continues. “I send you, you’s _gotta_ join us, ‘cause it’d be your obligation to be my voice as a amabastard. I send someone else, you makes up your mind on your own. I ain’t gonna be the person to come between youse. You’s got something special together, and I can’t be the one to break that up.”

“It won’t be you,” Race tells him.

He snorts. “Fine, you’s right. It won’t be me. It’ll be my damn socialism, and a mad dream for something ain’t ever gonna be here. And the fact that you’s gonna choose your brother over your sweetheart you’s only been seeing half a year.”

“Hey!” Race realizes how close he is to yelling and lowers his voice. “What’s that thing Jacobi’s always saying? If...if you can’t fix all of something...if you can’t make all of it….”

“If you can’t finish the work, ain’t no excuse to abandon it,” Jack finishes.

“Yeah, that.” Race clears his throat. “‘Sides - you gave me my pants. Least I can do is give you Santa Fe. Even if Santa Fe is some Yeshivish punk,” he adds.

Jack chuckles, looking down, then in the window to where Davey is explaining something to several of the boys staring at him in rapt attention. “He ain’t no Santa Fe,” he whispers.

Race snorts, tapping the ash off his cigar, and slaps Cowboy on the back, beginning to head inside. “Yeah, sure.”

“He ain’t!” Cowboy protests. “I’s known him two weeks, Race!”

“He ain’t _yet_ ,” Race corrects over his shoulder.

Race takes Midtown. He knows Gas House well enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this as T exclusively for Race's use of the word punk please shoot me  
> Title is from Pirkei Avot.


End file.
